In the darkness the face of my mother shone up, peaceful, happy, slightly inclined to one side, the eyes closed. My wife upon my right and the lady upon my left both saw it as clearly as I did. The lady had not known my mother in life but she said, “How wonderfully like she is to her son,” which will show how clear was the detail of the features.
On another occasion my son came back to me. Six persons heard his conversation with me, and signed a paper afterwards to that effect. It was in his voice and concerned itself with what was unknown to the medium, who was bound and breathing deeply in his chair. If the evidence of six persons of standing and honour may not be taken, then how can any human fact be established?
My brother, General Doyle, came back with the same medium, but on another occasion. He discussed the health of his widow. She was a Danish lady, and he wanted her to use a masseur in Copenhagen. He gave the name. I made inquiries and found that such a man did exist. Whence came this knowledge? Who was it who took so close an interest in the health of this lady? If it was not her dead husband then who was it?
All fine-drawn theories of the subconscious go to pieces before the plain statement of the intelligence, “I am a spirit. I am Innes. I am your brother.”
I have clasped materialized hands.
I have held long conversations with the direct voice.
I have smelt the peculiar ozone-like smell of ectoplasm.
I have listened to prophecies which were quickly fulfilled.
I have seen the “dead” glimmer up upon a photographic plate which no hand but mine had touched.
I have received through the hand of my own wife, notebooks full of information which was utterly beyond her ken.